


Scandalous!

by InterNutter



Series: When Irish Eyes Are Smiling [2]
Category: Steam Powered Giraffe
Genre: Character Sickness, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Peter/Iris, Racism, Romance, baby bots, some sexings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-21
Updated: 2014-02-21
Packaged: 2018-01-13 06:37:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1216279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InterNutter/pseuds/InterNutter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the wake of the funeral, Peter and Iris discover that getting what they wanted is easier than they think.</p><p>Well, except for the automatons wanting to learn about everything they're doing...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scandalous!

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to N.I.N.A. and I shall be attempting to link these fics real soon now.
> 
> Not very good smut within this fic - unless you have a great imagination. Of course I wrote it with a Victorian flavour.

Disclaimer: I do not own Steam Powered Giraffe or any characters from their lore. All I have is my limited ficcing abilities, which I sincerely hope you enjoy.

Sequel to N.I.N.A.

Scandalous!

InterNutter

  He didn't know how long he had been sitting there. Time was a strange creature to him. Permanently out of his grasp. He didn't feel tired or hungry. Merely...  
  Confused.  
  Love made lovers do strange things. One only had to look as far as Shakespeare to confirm *that*. But was... that isolated event... at all love?  
  He thought of the recently-departed Delilah and, though his heart still ached... he wondered if he really knew her. He knew he admired her brilliance. He had more than an aesthetic appreciation for her beauty. He respected her intelligence...  
  But was that love, or mere infatuation?  
  Was it a desire to share a life, or the greed for that previously thought unattainable?  
  Thadeus certainly thought he could possess Delilah.  
  And the lovely lady who inadvertently ruined his and Thadeus' friendship showed no preference for either of them. Nor had she, in fact, returned any advances. Nor showed any interest.  
  Yes, Delilah had smiled at them, but it was the polite and careful smile of a woman who knew what the wrong kind of 'gentleman' was capable of.  
  She had never smiled *for* any man.  
  Now that he though about it, the only person she smiled for was her cousin and housemate, quite devastated by Delilah's loss. Gone into deep mourning, the poor little peach.  
  Sunlight delivered the realisation that he barely knew Delilah at all. He knew her intellectually, but as a person?  
  He'd treated his steam-powered machine *men* better than he'd treated Delilah.  
  And now she had gone beyond where any apology could reach.  
  Peter found himself in the lab, again. Staring at the plans for the last of the four automatons. The woman who would have smiled at them and their antics was gone.  
  He cleared off his main workbench with one sweep of his arm. Plans, notes and mysterious mummified sandwich parts scattered to the floor. Peter knew that lingering on the past was no way to live. He needed a new project.  
  Like... unravelling the anomaly in Three's chest.  
  Disassembling the automaton was definitely out. For all he knew, the automaton was essential housing for the anomaly. Removing the - physical manifestations may also harm either the automaton or the anomaly.  
  He needed better analytical equipment...  
  
  Iris couldn't neglect him. Not now. Not ever. Not until he outright told her in front of witnesses that he no longer needed either her company or her services.  
  The kiss was just... exuberance.  
  She was the one who wanted too much out of it.  
  A silly fancy.  
  Best forgotten and behind her.  
  Which had nothing at all to do with the way the lunch tray rattled in her hands or the way she trembled as she entered the Hall of Wires to find him, once again, in his lab.  
  She absently picked up the scattered papers and put them in order, after she set the tray down.  
  The work currently on his desk looked like a mess of spirals. interlocked. Interweaving. Some etched by the pencil's lead into the very fibre of his desk.  
  He was sweating. Hot.  
  Mumbling incoherent jumbles of words.  
  Sick.  
  So very, very sick.  
  He fought her if she tried to lift him away herself. With an alien strength and a vigor she could not hope to counter alone.  
  Ah, but she was never alone.  
  Iris leaned out the doorway to the lab and blew a sharp report of whistles. The automatons' collective bird-code for 'need help, come here'. Her metal boys had very good hearing. And very soon, all three of them came running.  
  "Pappy's fallen ill," she reported. "Three. Get all the ice you can carry and put it in the master's bathtub."  
  Three went running off.  
  "Spine. I need you to carry Pappy to the bathroom and start filling the tub with cold water."  
  "He's hot," said The Spine. "Install chimneys?"  
  "No. Automaton solutions don't work for humans. We have other ways."  
  And, last but not least, "Rabbit, go down to the drying racks in the basement and fetch one bundle of each herb for me, please." She'd need feverfew and willowfine and many other things, but teaching Rabbit the difference between them now would be... it would take far too long.  
  Rabbit, too, ran off.  
  The Spine cradled his Pappy like a man cradling eggshells filled with nitroglycerine. He walked with exaggerated care and cooed soft, soothing melodies as he kept his Pappy restrained.  
  He was not using bird-speak on his father... He was trying to sing a lullaby.  
  She raced ahead to Peter's ensuite, plugged the tub, and began a slow trickle of cold water into the vessel.  
  What was taking the other two so long?  
  
  Rabbit stopped with Three at the top of the stairs. What they needed to fetch was Down. Neither of them had ever gone Down without help, before. Without Ma or Pappy holding their hands. Up, too, had never happened alone; but right now Up seemed a distant and impossible future.  
  Three spoke in bird-chat. "What we do? Ma busy."  
  Rabbit did the same. "Pappy busy. Ma busy. Spine busy. Others scared of us..."  
  "Pappy needs us go down."  
  The idea hit like a wrecking ball. "I help you down. You help me down! Simultaneous helps!"  
  "Together helps," agreed Three. "And again for Up!"  
  They had a *plan*.  
  
  Thus it was that the doorman, quietly biding his time in a good book, witnessed two machine men carefully descending the stairs. Hand in hand, like careful toddlers trying to get up to something. They were tweeting to each other like sparrows, but that was normal for them.  
  One held the rail, and the other steadied itself on the wall. All the way down to the floor.  
  Then they erupted in triumphant birdsong. Dancing and hugging and making a racket with their metal feet.  
  Mason the doorman had only one thing to say, which he breathed out lest the metal men hear him and realise they could accost him.  
  "Wall full'a *bricks*..."  
  And then the automatons clattered off on whatever mission they had in mind.  
  Mason did his best to hide behind his book.  
  
  Three helped Rabbit down into the drying area. Then Rabbit helped three up to the ice chest to gather all the ice they could carry. Then they both helped each other up the stairs again.  
  It was almost so easy that they were starting to think they could conquer Up and Down all by themselves.  
  They hurried to the master ensuite with their prizes, chirping excitedly about their discoveries.  
  
  "Put him in the tub. Careful, now."  
  The Spine lowered Pappy with precision. Not touching the water once, lest it sneak into his seams and make an accident that Pappy may never wake up from.  
  Pappy gasped at the water, but did not rouse.  
  Miss Iris rolled up her sleeves and, sitting on a stool by the tub, sponged water over the bits of Pappy that the water didn't cover.  
  He could hear his brothers running up the hall.  
  "[Hey, The Spine! Guess what?]" Three chirped in bird-speak.  
  "[We went Down! All by ourselves,]" warbled Rabbit.  
  "[I helped Rabbit!]"  
  "[I helped Three!]"  
  "[And then we came Up again!]"  
  "[See? See?]"  
  The ice was in an old potato sack, which dripped behind Three into small puddles.  
  "Good, you're here," Miss Iris gestured for Three to put the bag down. "The Spine? Please smash that ice up nice and small for Pappy?"  
  "No like break, Ma," he managed, panicked.  
  "It's to help Pappy. It's okay."  
  He could feel his heat rising as he held the opening of the sack with one hand and made a fist with the other. He raised it high.  
  Bought it down on the sack with a concussive boom.  
  Boom. Boom. The big cubes inside the sack were not cubes, any more.  
  Boom. Boom. Boom. Now they weren't even big chunks.  
  Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Smaller and smaller pieces. Oil dripped from his eyes and onto the sack. He hated making things break. Miss Iris picked him to break it because he was so good at breaking things.  
  He was openly sobbing by the time Miss Iris said, "Enough! That's enough. You did very good work. This is helping."  
  He didn't think it was. He thought he was a walking wrecking machine that could only destroy. The Spine huddled in place and let his brothers wrap their arms around him. Cooing and warbling reassuring things.  
  Miss Iris tipped all the shattered ice into the bath with Pappy. Gathered the enormous bouquet of herbs from Rabbit and laid them out on a table.  
  Pappy was moaning and shivering, but he was also sweating.  
  Miss Iris seemingly plucked bits of dried plants at random, gathering them in her apron skirts. "Three? Fetch me the tea service from Pappy's lab. Rabbit? The Spine? I need your help."  
  It was more breaking. This time, smashing the dry plant bits into the washbowl. Until they were dust. They had to keep their oils out of it, this time.  
  "It's this or waste time looking for my mortar and pestle. Necessity is mothering invention. You're doing good things. Good things." She stood on her tip-toes to do the lip-lip-thing on his cheek-plate. It made a flat, wet noise.  
  "[Lip-lip! I saw the lip-lip thing!]"  
  "[Keep working, Rabbit,]" he said. The lip-lip-thing was literally the last of his concerns.  
  "[Not fair,]" Rabbit complained, even though he continued to work. Smashing selected bits of plant between his hands. "[Why'd you and Pappy get lip-lip and the rest of us miss out?]"  
  "[Keep working, Rabbit,]" The Spine focussed on crushing the next piece into dust. And the next piece. And the next. Until there were no more pieces.  
  "Good. Good," murmured Miss Iris. She took the teapot from Three and tipped it down the drain. Steaming hot water from the sink filled it anew and a generous pinch of his and Rabbit's mixed dust went into the pot. "Who can count quietly?"  
  Three got chosen. And lip-lipped before he was told to count to one hundred without making a sound, and to let Miss Iris know when he was done.  
  Rabbit pouted. "Ain't fair! I helped too! Where's *my* lip-lip-thing?"  
  Miss Iris sighed and said, "It's called a kiss, Rabbit. And I'm sorry I forgot you, but I *am* very worried about Pappy." She lip-lipped Rabbit's forehead and then got back to sponging water over Pappy.  
  To an automaton, they began pondering what the position of each lip-lip meant. What each kiss could mean. They only had one data point, each, and one for Pappy, but that didn't stop some rampant conjecture.  
  The Spine fetched his knitting because Ma needed cool, and his own worries were making hot. Hot was bad. Knitting made the hot go away. So he would knit.  
  It took his metal brothers all of five minutes to borrow the spare needles and yarn in his knitting basket. Even Rabbit, who usually never had the patience, was trying to dissipate his worries in physical activity whilst staring at Pappy as if they could all will him better.  
  And, incidentally, bending the metal needles like pretzels in the process.  
  
  Getting peter out of the bathtub was the next problem. The automatons had dangerous electrical discharges when they came into contact with water. She solved most of the problem by pulling the plug, then towelling off as much of Peter as she could reach.  
  Smelling salts would not wake him.  
  "One hundred," said Three. And then returned to the sad, scared chirping he shared with his brothers.  
  Rabbit was tangled up in yarn and bent knitting needles. Three was just tangled in yarn. "Spine? Help lift Pappy. We need to change his clothes."  
  Underpinnings and all.  
  Iris gritted her teeth and got on with it. Peter was in no shape to change himself. She focussed on getting the old things off and the new things on. Tried not to look at his shame. She counted herself lucky that none of the automatons were in a mood to ask mortifying questions.  
  He was still feverish when she tucked him into his bed. But not as devastatingly hot as he had been when she found him. She fetched the herbal tea and got The Spine to help prop him up with assortments of quilts and pillows.  
  Only then did she let him go and untangle his brothers.  
  Meanwhile, Iris slowly fed Peter the tea. Spoonful by laborious spoonful. Any time she could get him to take it in.  
  
  Did you hear?  
  Walter Manor is full of insane automatons. You must have seen them at the church, sounding like birds and looking like scarecrows, all in black.  
  Did you hear?  
  The housekeeper's is taking over the house!  
  Did you hear?  
  Colonel Peter Walter was poisoned by that ass Becile and his horrid green energy.  
  Did you hear?  
  I had it from an ostler who had it from their lady coachman who had it from the Boy that Colonel Walter *kissed* her!  
  Brazenly!  
  As if they were already married!  
  Did you hear?  
  Becile escaped! Not only prison, but the country!  
  Did you hear?  
  The hussy of a housekeeper is practically throwing herself at him!  
  Just last week, she was sitting in such a manner as to show her ankles to Heaven itself!  
  Did you hear?  
  Colonel Walter is deathly ill!  
  That woman never leaves his side. Day and night in the same bedroom with NO CHAPERONE...  
  Did you hear?  
  The automatons are roaming the whole house, now; terrifying anyone who has a lick of sense!  
  Did you hear?  
  I heard she poisoned him for kissing her.  
  I heard she plans to take over his businesses.  
  I heard they're already carrying on in sin!  
  Did you hear?  
  Did you hear?  
  
  Iris spent most of her waking hours with paperwork, getting better with practice. Poor dear Peter spent most of his time asleep or moaning softly. Mumbling things to dear departed Delilah.  
  It was enough to make her weep. If she had time for tears.  
  She was thankful for his automatons. She sent them fetching food, relaying orders, carrying messages. Mostly in pairs, because there was always one of the boys watching over herself and their Pappy.  
  She re-read the letter that she'd dozed off in the middle of, this morning. It was another polite but scathing missive calling concern to her previously rational decisions. The mind of a woman being clearly unable to handle the concerns of such a gentleman of station as that of the good Colonel Peter Walter.  
  Obviously, they paid no heed to her own polite yet scathing missives ensuring that the concerns of the good colonel started and stopped in his lab, and that he simply trusted her with everything else.  
  Instead, she wrote a scathing missive asking if there was anyone about who better knew his concerns, and signed it with his name.  
  If that didn't shut them up, nothing else would.  
  She checked Peter's temperature as she spooned some healing broth into him. And more tea. At least he was coherent enough to make it to the commode, with automaton help. A small blessing, at least. She hadn't needed the bedpan since that first, terrifying evening when she believed he may just be joining Delilah in the greater beyond.  
  He was cool to the touch!  
  Panicked, she checked his chest. Heartbeat. Breathing.  
  The fever had broken. Thank God.  
  Iris removed the cloth from his forehead and draped a blanket over his wracked body.  
  "...feel like death warmed over," he croaked. "Iris?"  
  "Yes?"  
  "'Ve you been lookin' after me?"  
  "Always," she sighed. "Rest now. When you wake up, we'll get some soup into you." _And then I can get you to write that damned letter for yourself. I'd rather not be a forger and a liar twice._ She pencilled over the dreaded missive, the word 'DRAFT' and set it aside before returning to the books and muttering prayers of thanks.  
  "Ma?" said Three. Sitting on the floor at the end of the bed.  
  "Yes, dear?"  
  "Your heartbeat slowed. You okay?"  
  Sigh. She sipped her own tea. A herbal brew meant to keep her own system strong and ward off illness. "Yes, dear. I'm able to relax, at last. Pappy's going to be all right."  
  CHIRP?!  
  "Shush, now. Pappy's sleeping."  
  Three leaped up and rushed out of the room. She could hear him all the way down the hall of wires.  
  Twitter warble chitter tweet twitter chirp!  
  Two more automaton voices joined in.  
  Once more, the house filled with excited birdsong. And the clatter of metal feet as each machine man took his turn to creep into poor Peter's room and confirm for himself that Pappy was starting to get better.  
  Iris had failed to notice how very quiet the manor had become, lately.  
  Poor Rabbit had been crying again. Iris could tell by the tracks of oil down his copper face.  
  "He looks same as always, Ma," Rabbit complained.  
  "The fever's gone and he'll need some time to heal," Iris reassured him. "But I'm certain that the worst is over, now. You can go tell Cookie we'll need some of her strengthening soup, by and by."  
  Rabbit, who loved to do anything related to moving, stayed exactly where he'd stopped. "Nuh-uh. Don't wanna." He folded his arms. "I'm stayin'."  
  Of all the times for Rabbit to play Mister Difficult. Was he saving up disasters for her to deal with? Iris massaged the ache in her head. "Someone has to tell Cookie, Rabbit... Why don't you just go?"  
  "'Cause of how you're goin'a need sleep," Rabbit explained. "We done some reading? And it says in the books that humans need eight hours o' sleep a day and you've been missin' out a *lot*. And ya ain't been eatin' that much, neither. We don't want ya sick like Pappy got sick, Ma. That was terrifyin'." During his little speech, he gently took the pencil from her hands and helped her over to the little cot she'd had placed within lunging-range of poor Peter's own four-poster. He sat her on it and plumped the pillow and made her lie down while he continued. "So now Pappy's outta trouble, I'm makin' sure you don't get in none. And I'm gonna stand guard and make certain nobody comes and puts you or Pappy in a box while you're nappin'."  
  "I'm not tired," she yawned. "And don't be silly, I've been looking after myself enough."  
  "Yahuh," said Rabbit. He pulled up the sheets and blanket.  
  "I really don' need a blanket," she murmured, and lost the fight over it as Rabbit tucked her in.  
  "Sshh..." Rabbit soothed. Copper fingers that easily meant the demise of so many guitar strings - and guitars, for that matter - gently stroked her hair. "We got it all for now. I'm goin'a tell the others to tell Cookie. I'm makin' sure you stay safe."  
  "...r'ly don' need t' sleep," she mumbled as the darkness closed in on her and exhaustion pulled her down into a deep, sound slumber.  
  
  Rabbit stood tall. He was the eldest. He was in charge. He called the other two in -quietly, for a change- and gave them Ma's orders for Cookie.  
  Cookie was new to the house and had once prided herself in being able to fill any hungry stomach. She still viewed Three and his vortex-powered appetite as a challenge, and The Spine and Rabbit with suspicion turning into slow, grudging respect.  
  Standing and watching two humans sleep was kind-of boring, but Rabbit could stand it. It was only until they woke up again.  
  Nothing to it.  
  Pappy didn't do any more of the mumbling that made Ma cry. As far as Rabbit was concerned, that was a good thing. Pappy was making different noises, now. The low, rumbling buzz he usually made into his work table when Ma couldn't make him go to bed.  
  Ma made little noises, too. Buzzes and murmurs and sighs.  
  Humans weren't at all like Rabbit and his brothers. When the automatons went into stasis, they didn't make much noise at all. Just the click and whirr of their stabilising mechanisms and the gentle hiss of their boilers letting off steam.  
  Other Mommy had not made noises like Ma and Pappy when she was in her box.  
  Maybe it was because of 'died'. The bad-news word that made Pappy get yelling and Ma all upset.  
  It was a bad word.  
  And it must never happen to Pappy or Ma.  
  Rabbit watched both his favourite humans intensely, Listened for the heartbeats under their breaths and other noises. As long as he was watching them they were all right. And as long as they were all right, Rabbit didn't need to be scared, any more.  
  And as long as Rabbit wasn't scared... everything was good.  
  
  It was late afternoon when Iris woke to the sound of chattering automatons and the smell of soup. Dear Peter was already sitting up in his bed with a tray and Three looking on in some degree of jealousy. The Spine stood solemnly in a corner, watching as Rabbit bout her a tray with some more of Cookie's famous soup on it.  
  All laid out properly.  
  She couldn't remember teaching them. Iris did remember the occasional curious crowd of metal as she bought trays up to the lab. But none had had soup. In a bowl. With a silver spoon and a neatly folded napkin.  
  "Did Cookie show you?"  
  "Yahuh. I said I wanted to do it right for you, Ma."  
  "And Pappy," she added. Stealing a glance at the man who made her heart hurt so sweetly. He was rough, at the moment. Bearded and haggard from his illness. Dishevelled. Desperately in need of a good bath and a few square meals. And still adorable.  
  "Yah, him too."  
  
  Baths and proper meals and slow, careful constitutionals saw him almost right again. There were still shadows under his eyes, but at least he could be trusted to put his clothes on and get up and down the many staircases in the manor. And so, too, could the automatons. The endless days of fetching for her had taught them that they could navigate stairs both safely and all by themselves.  
  There was still a great deal of hanging onto railings and, in the case of the less confident Spine, scooting down tall flights on his derriere... but the boys were gaining independence.  
  Iris felt illogically proud of them all.  
  She was nearly back into the flow of it all when a crowd of gentlemen arrived from the city. All in severe, crisp suits and all trying to ignore the curious automatons as they chirped about various aspects of facial hair.  
  Iris found them as she was heading to the bigger wash-room to get the grease off her hands. Dear Peter's laundering engine was a temperamental - if efficient - creation and required regular bouts of jiggery-pokery. Some days, she swore she knew more about its upkeep than its creator.  
  Sweat-stained, grease-marked, and well aware that her bun was coming loose, she stared both up at them and down her nose at them. "Can I help you, gentlemen?" she iced.  
  "We will talk only with your master, girl," said the one with the most ludicrous beard. "IF he is, in fact, still alive."  
  And, by minor miracle, Peter arrived from the kitchen. Munching on one of Cookie's nigh-famous pies. The blueberry stains weren't impressive on his face, since it was already marked with blue matter, but they did leave a regrettable impression on his nice white coat. "Alive and--" swallow, "--quite well, gentlemen. Thanks to the determined efforts of our lovely Miss Iris."  
  Iris curtseyed and did her utmost to not blush.  
  They seemed... disappointed.  
  "It appears that we have heard... some rather falsified and scurrilous rumours concerning your wellbeing," harrumphed Mr Ridiculous-Beard.  
  "But since were here," added Mr Pompous-Moustache. "There remains the matter of your allowing that girl to run rough-shod through the day-to-day businesses of your -ah- businesses."  
  "She has no authority," declared Mr No-Chin.  
  Throughout all of it, she stood as neatly as she could. Straight as a pin. Stiff as a board. Hands clenched together under the towel that concealed a majority of the oil stains. Looking down at the floor, two parquet tiles away from where dear Peter's feet deigned to rest.  
  In all appearances, a proper servant.  
  On the inside she wanted to howl at them. To tear them to pieces in regards to their cowardice. These... scavengers came here in the hopes of taking the Walter fortune for their own! To the deepest, hottest Hell with them all!  
  "You're quite right," said Peter. "Miss Iris has been acting on my wishes and conducting my businesses without so much as a drop of ink towards power of attorney."  
  Those puffed-up maggots preened...  
  "Which is why, as soon as my lawyer can draw up the papers, I am appointing Miss Iris my Chief Executive Officer."  
  "WHAT?"  
  Iris, at least, managed a respectable, "I *beg* your *pardon*, sir!"  
  "This exemplary woman, gentlemen, saw me through grief, madness, and an illness that could have easily been my undoing. In that time, she has conducted herself in a manner beyond reproach. Were she a man, she would be attaining all the awards we could hand her... But we can only do so much, eh?"  
  "Chief..." spluttered Mr No-Chin.  
  "And majority shareholder in Walter Mechanicals," added dear Peter.  
  "But she's a *woman*," objected Mr Ridiculous-Beard.  
  "Well spotted, sir."  
  Iris raised the cloth up to cover her smile and stifle her giggles.  
  "It's a scientific fact that women have no head for the complicated things in life."  
  _Yet you trust us to run a household, make fabric, raise children, budget food, organise parties and make your clothes,_ she thought. _Compared to that, mens' work is easy!_  
And when was it, exactly, that working the books had become a daily distraction to be done quickly than an exercise in guerrilla mathematics?  
  How much had she learned here, just by doing it over and over again until her brain got used to the exercise?  
  "It's also a scientific fact that Miss Iris has been more than capably handling more complicated things than my businesses since the day of her arrival. Primarily, me and my metallic men."  
  Harrumph! "And we have heard rumours of how she handled them!"  
  Harrumph! Harrumph!  
  "Come now, man! Back to your senses! Everyone knows she's a Paddy!"  
  Iris gasped.  
  Rabbit, somehow, came between her and the stuffed-shirt and retorted, "Takes one ta tell one, ya stinkypants!"  
  The Spine was next. "There is never a need for name-calling, gentlemen. If you are actually *gentlemen*."  
  Three wrapped his lanky brass limbs around her and cooed, "Don't you listen to the mean men. Don't you listen."  
  Dear Peter didn't turn a hair. "You well know this house's difficulty with hiring what *you* consider to be 'decent staff'." 'You', pronounced, 'an unfortunate and ill-odoured stain I have had the misfortune to discover on the underside of my shoe; two minutes too late to prevent its contact with my best carpet'. "Miss Iris has had no difficulty in finding what *you* would consider to be 'indecent' staff. You would call her a Paddy to her face. *I* would call *you* disgraceful!"  
  "*Bricks*!" Mason the doorman spat in their general direction. His left hand was fluttering. He had their coats over his right arm.  
  "Not now, Mason," she breathed.  
  Regardless, Mason pushed each coat at each gentleman, cut them dead, and retreated into the downstairs kitchen.  
  "'Paddy' or not," said dear Peter. "Miss Iris has more common decency and intelligence than the lot of you combined. I would take her word that the sky was green before I trusted any of you in the knowledge that water is wet. GOOD. DAY."  
  Iris, surrounded by the boys, gently pushed them aside with her greasy fingertips. She kept her Bronx accent and iced, "I believe you can see yourselves *out*. And in the off chance that you remain, I shall call the police to escort you. The master is no longer At Home for any of you."  
  
  Peter found her walking in the garden. Her face both red and streaked with tears. "I notice you didn't deny the accusation."  
  _Get it over with, quick. Like a bullet to the head._ Iris let her true accent out at last. "I've found I couldn't lie in front'a you, sor."  
  She closed her eyes tight. Focussed on her breathing. Ignored the steady drip of fresh, hot tears down her face.  
  Yet his warm presence remained by her side. "Your last name...?"  
  "Tighe. Not Tonia."  
  "Ah."  
  No judgement. No anger. No reprisals. Iris dared peek to find a man staring thoughtfully at the shrubbery. "The boys cornered me for some time, after that... tableaux. I had to explain why that word hurt you. I... had to tell them all about... prejudice."  
  "How did they take it?" she asked.  
  "They flat out told me that 'humans is a bunch'a dummins'. And I quite agree."  
  Iris sighed. "Doesn't change the fact that I forged my papers. I put on an act to... deceive... everyone. If I stay... I'll reflect badly on - on your good character."  
  He boggled at her. "Do you honestly believe that I would value the low opinion of those... *people*... over your own abundant good attributes?"  
  "...sor?"  
  "I find your presence invaluable, Miss Iris. Stay. And let my good character flap in the wind, for all I care."  
  She searched his pale face for any hint of anything other than honesty. And felt immense relief that there was not an atom of it to be found. "Thank you," she whispered.  
  "But, just to confound them all, I'd rather you kept your other accent in the fore," he smiled. "Confusion to the enemy and all that."  
  "Aye, confusion to the enemy."  
  Her heart was happier when his hand found hers and gripped it fondly.  
  "In another world," he said, "there's no need for judging anyone by where they came from or what gender they possess. There's no need for segregation. No need for 'sensibilities'. Where the only measure of a person is the acts they perform towards their fellows."  
  Iris ached for that world. "And I suppose there's room in that world for a gentleman to marry his housekeeper?"  
  "Were I a common man, I have no doubt we'd be married already."  
  "And if I were a lady of quality and breeding?"  
  "Oh, doubly so. But only if you retained your very capable head and hands."  
  "And in your world, there'd be no need for either of us to change. We could just go ahead and say our vows. And never mind about murmuring."  
  A loud, mechanical voice from behind the bench, "AW JUST LIP-LIP ALREADY!"  
  They both turned just in time to see The Spine and Three drag Rabbit back down to their hiding-place behind the ornamental stone bench.  
  Anxious little columns of steam still betrayed their location.  
  Iris looked up at dear Peter. Peter looked down at her.  
  Both burst out laughing.  
  "Those boys," dearest Peter giggled. And, in a burst of mad inspiration, took her over to the duckpond. "Here. Sit."  
  She did so, and watched as he dipped his hand in the murky water.  
  Dearest Peter ran his moist fingers across her brow. "By the power vested in me by scientific insanity, I hereby christen you Iris Tonia. Rise, and lie no more, dear lady."  
  She did, and added a kiss into the bargain.  
  He did not fight. Did not resist. Nor did he crush her in his arms as he had before.  
  And in the distance, three unruly automaton boys cheered them on.  
  
  It was scandalous, he knew, but the power of their mutual love could not be denied. Besides, scandal was a social construct. Unimportant, save to those who valued it.  
  What was important was making absolutely certain that each automaton was safely in stasis and shut in his room; before the both of them came once more to his bedchamber.  
  There; safe behind the lock, kisses could turn into caresses.  
  Caresses could transmute into fondling.  
  There; clothing could drop and the loving eye appreciate the gift that lay underneath.  
  There; they could join as Adam and Eve had once joined. Without guilt. Without shame. With only love in their minds.  
  There; they could sing together, their own ode to joy.  
  There; they could cuddle in post-conjugal bliss, to the gentle chirping of automatons.  
  AUTOMATONS!  
  Once again, dear darling Iris was a beat ahead. "You were supposed to be sleeping!"  
  "Heard noise."  
  "Like sick noise."  
  "Only loud."  
  "Real loud."  
  "Why no clothes on?"  
  "Why you make knot?"  
  "What'cha doin' to Ma, Pappy?"  
  Peter flung the sheets over her nakedness before he fumbled into his own nightshirt. "I distinctly recall locking the door," he said. "How did you get in here?"  
  Three held up a doorknob. "Door broke. Sorry Pappy."  
  Iris, draping the sheet around herself, turned up the lights. All three of the boys were covered in splinters. They had not only powered through their own doors, but also through his.  
  "Boys," he sighed. "Don't worry about Miss Iris and I. It's... a human thing."  
  "Go back to your rooms and rest," instructed darling Iris. "Pappy will explain it tomorrow."  
  Startled and outright boggling. "I will? But-- I... I've never had to--"  
  She smiled a very wicked smile. So very beautiful amongst the cloud of her mussed hair. "I bow to your superior scientific background, good sir."  
  He was quite red in the face by the time he finally came back to her. Looking so very much like an ancient goddess of love in that silly patterned bedsheet.  
  She giggled at his blushes and allowed the sheet to drop to the floor.  
  He was only too grateful to worship once more at her private temple.  
  
  Iris stared up into the darkness and sighed. Tomorrow, she would have to pretend to be proper. Tomorrow, she would have to make up a story as to why she and he had both spent the night upstairs.  
  Tomorrow, she would also watch him explaining adult relations to the boys.  
  And that would definitely pay for any sins.  
  Iris let herself drift back into Now.  
  Now, she had him in her arms.  
  Now, she had his love in return for hers.  
  Now, he muttered her name happily in his sleep.  
  And most importantly - now, the world did not hurt.  
  Let tomorrow wait.  
  Tonight, they had love.  
  She slept late, yet still conspired to rise earlier than poor exhausted Peter. This allowed her to wash and change into her *other* dress. And check what papers had arrived overnight.  
  Odd. There was an envelope stamped 'URGENT' in red. From the Dandy Candy corporation. It felt like bad news.  
  It felt like the worst of news, replete with a healthy bucket of worse timing.  
  All in one, relatively small, paper rectangle.  
  Iris hurried upstairs with it. Roused poor dear Peter and bit the hem of her apron with worry over what it contained.  
  She was right. It was bad news.  
  "Becile," Peter growled. "He's gone mad. Giant copper elephants running rampant along the Nile. Legions of the undead. Babclock's begging me for whatever assistance I can give in ending the menace."  
  "The boys," whispered Iris.  
  "I'll have to make adjustments, of course. Build the fourth one."  
  "Peter..."  
  "...round up any weapons. Would four be enough? Even with my mechanical giraffe?"  
  "No. You need to turn your factories to the task. Teach your workers how to make more automatons. They can't be craftsmanship, Peter. You can't afford to do that. Not with nations at stake."  
  He blinked and stared. "Have I told you lately how brilliant you are?"  
  "Four times, last night. But that's not important."  
  "It isn't?"  
  "No. You have to march yourself into that library and explain everything to your boys."  
  The look of impending dread on his face was worth a small fortune.  
  
To Be Continued!


End file.
